The Pain of the Heart (FINAL EDITION)

The pain of the heart

The pain in my heart, it does not desist.
It echoes my loves name, it hold’s her charm.
Her smile, the most beautiful smile; it’s like a red kite in the cloudless blue sky.
Pick up the richest bar of chocolate, smell its cacao bean pod fragrance, enjoy the divine taste on the curls of your tongue, and you begin to feel her tender kiss.
I could talk about the lovely maiden, forever and ever more,
The tears she fought, the fears she brought, her so innocent soul.
The way she got angry over spilt milk,
And passed wind politely in public and blamed it on me, laughing as she did, hilariously, knowing that I would take upon me a thousand blames.
And that once we danced, when her soul touched mine, and our eyes matched,
To the rhythm, voice and rhyme,
Of Buckley, Jeff,
Hallelujah, live
And she said quite clearly, this is it, this is our song.
I grabbed her arm, our noses touched, the hug I felt was better then the thousand kisses, the million touches, the holding hands and all, all of it here defined:
The moon, the stars, the black night,
How I miss her, not by my side
Drowning my self in alcoholic dues,
And looking across the lake,
To the very same tune,
I feel its time.
The pain in my heart, it does not desist.
It echoes my loves name, it hold’s her charm…

End

The following part was added 2 and a half years later… though it is meant as a direct continuation to the above; as if no time has passed:

And than alas, I see her across the lake,
There she is,that which is truly ineffable.
And she’s not crying like I am,
Not shedding a single tear,
She’s… smiling.
She’s dressed in white, like a ghost upon a black rug,
My drink I feel, close to my heart.
And resign to the fact, that that is not my love, my better half...
I wake up facing upwards to the dawn sky,
In a rowing boat, made for two, me and my brew.
I look at my brew, nearly emptied, not fully though.
And then I threw the glass bottle, watching it drown in the lake…

The pain in my heart, it does its best,
It echoes my loves name, it hold’s her charm…

Author.

An old piece of prose I wrote whilst at college, back when I called my self 'Author'. It's about a close friend.
I have kept it in its crudest form thus this is the final version.